


Toxic Friendship

by methaemoglobinemia (crimsonherbarium)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Enemies to Friends, Food Poisoning, Gavin Reed's Birthday, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hank Cameo, Hurt Gavin Reed, If Connor had washed his grubby little robot hands even once this wouldn't have happened, If You Squint - Freeform, Minor Tina Chen, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vomiting, Whump, gavin whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/methaemoglobinemia
Summary: It's Gavin's birthday, and Connor decides it's time to make a peace offering.It does not go as planned.





	Toxic Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Nanowhymo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderstanspiderstan/pseuds/Nanowhymo) for the beta and the original development of this concept! 
> 
> Please mind the tags, people.

Today was Gavin's birthday.

Connor would have known that even without the reminder that came in the form of a hideous card being discreetly passed around the bullpen for people to sign. He was linked to the DPD's intranet, and a perk of that was having access to an abbreviated version of each officer's personnel file. Just enough information to help him integrate effectively into the unit. It was what CyberLife had thought was best.

It had been almost a year since the revolution. Nine months since Connor had officially joined the force, much to Gavin's annoyance. Connor knew Gavin had never liked him. He still wasn't sure exactly what made the detective so hostile to androids, but he hadn't come around like Hank had. Most days that they were both doing desk work, Connor could feel Gavin's eyes boring into the back of his head like he was trying to strike him dead with the power of his mind.

It was troubling.

Nevertheless, CyberLife had designed him to be persistent. To integrate with humans flawlessly. To make the humans trust him. To make them forget he wasn't one of them. If not for the small circle of the LED that still glowed on his right temple, he probably would have been successful.

He'd made friends here and there, but Gavin...Gavin was an enigma. Connor still hadn't managed to win him over, and after several incidents that had led to the two of them being shouted at by Captain Fowler, Connor was almost ready to give up.

A peace offering seemed like a good idea, though.

Connor decided it was worth a try. He rose from his desk at 09:41 and made his way to the break room. He knew where the coffee machine was, though he'd never used it. He had to consult the internet for its operation instructions, but he eventually managed to produce a cup of what looked reasonably like coffee. He'd made it how Gavin seemed to like it—black, two sugars. He felt a little proud of himself. He hadn't been built to be a household assistant. Any culinary or cleaning task was difficult for him.

He dipped his finger lightly into the cup, touching it to his tongue. His LED spun yellow as his oral sensors detailed the composition of the coffee, listing each of its constituent substances in order of greatest concentration. It seemed correct to Connor. He picked up the cup, holding it perfectly level as he made his way toward Gavin's desk.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” Connor said, forcing an awkward smile. Gavin didn't bother looking up from his phone.

Connor cleared his throat and tried again. “I understand that today is your birthday.” He held out the coffee cup. “I thought you might like some coffee.”

“Fuck off.” Gavin's eyes flicked up for the millisecond it took to dismiss Connor, and then returned to his phone screen.

Connor set the cup down on Gavin's desk. “Sorry to have bothered you, Detective.” He sighed and made his way back to his own chair, his mouth twisting in dismay. Well, he'd tried.

It would have been easier for him to accept Gavin's intense dislike of him if he'd understood _why._ He didn't seem to be fond of other androids, either, but this degree of vitriol appeared to be reserved for Connor.

Connor returned to the case files he'd been reviewing and tried to put the whole thing out of his mind. It seemed that Gavin's attitude was something he was just going to have to accept.

“Don't worry about it, kiddo,” Hank muttered from the other side of the desk. “He's like that with everyone.”

A few minutes later, out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Gavin lift the cup to his lips and drink.

~~~~~~

Gavin wasn't exactly thrilled to be stuck at work on his birthday, but at least there wasn't much actual work to be done. He was perfectly content to just dick around on his phone until his shift was over, and then head out with Tina to the bar down the street to celebrate. Barring any particularly gruesome murders being reported, nothing should interfere with that.

He finished the coffee the plastic prick had left on his desk. It was beyond him why the dumb bastard kept trying, but at least he'd gotten something out of it this time. Gavin had stayed out way too late last night—the caffeine boost was definitely needed. He buried himself in his phone, sorting through his matches on Tinder with a bored expression.

He would have been happy to spend the rest of the workday in that manner, had a sudden sharp cramp in his gut not interrupted his leisurely browsing.

Gavin shifted in his seat, grimacing as he tried to ignore the discomfort. Rather than dissipating, the dull, twisting pain grew more intense. In the reflection of his phone screen, he could see that the blood had drained out of his face, and a thin sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead. It felt like his guts were trying to liquefy themselves.

He breathed unsteadily through his nose, trying to force back the wave of nausea that swept over him. He was freezing and burning at the same time. It occurred to him that it might be a good idea to go to the men's room in case he puked.

There was an excruciating cramp in his stomach, and suddenly his mouth was full of thick saliva. Fuck, he was _definitely_ going to puke. Gavin got up and practically ran to the men's room, almost knocking over Officer Miller as the other man rounded the corner from the holding cells.

He barely made it in time, collapsing to his knees in the first empty stall he found and heaving up his breakfast into the toilet. Once the retching started, it didn't stop. He kept hurling for what felt like hours, until there were tears in his eyes and he was gasping for breath as he clutched his stomach in pain. The acid burned his sinuses. The sour taste of it stung his mouth. Ribbons of mucus and bile hung from his lips as he coughed ineffectually into the toilet.

The sound of his own labored breathing echoed back at him from the tiled walls and floor. He dry-heaved a couple more times, but he was pretty sure there was nothing left in him to puke up. He wiped his mouth on a wad of toilet paper and tried to stand. 

That was a mistake. His vision swam and he stumbled, almost blacking out as he fell back to his knees. He groaned, burying his face in his shaking hands. Why the fuck was this happening? He hadn't felt sick this morning—

The restroom door creaked as someone entered. “Detective Reed?”

Gavin groaned. Of course it was Connor. That was the only possible thing that could make this morning worse than it already was.

The plastic prick's shoes stopped outside the stall Gavin was in. “Detective? Are you alright? I noticed you hadn't returned to your desk.”

“I'm stellar,” Gavin rasped. “Now fuck off.”

Connor crouched down. “You appear to be ill. I can take you to the doctor if you—”

“I said, fuck off—” a wave of nausea forced Gavin to swallow the rest of his sentence. He focused on taking slow, deep breaths. The last fucking thing he wanted was to puke in front of the android. He'd had enough humiliation for one day already.

The door to the stall swung open, and Gavin kicked himself internally for not locking it. He'd had other things on his mind when he'd come in, sure, but still. Connor was in the stall with him, invading his personal space in the worst possible way as he crouched down and peered at Gavin's face.

“Your heart rate is elevated, and you're running a slight fever,” Connor said, cocking his head slightly.

Gavin's skin crawled. What, the thing was _scanning_ him, now? He glared back, trying to convey the profanities he was unable to utter because opening his mouth would probably have meant vomiting again.

Connor reached out and touched Gavin's cheek.

Gavin slapped his hand away. “Don't fucking touch me,” he hissed through his teeth, trying not to move any more than he had to.

The android had wiped away a bit of slime that was still on Gavin's face. One eyebrow raised, he lifted his finger to his mouth.

“Oh fuck. Don't—” Gavin watched in repulsed disbelief as Connor touched his finger to his tongue. His LED spun yellow.

Gavin was promptly and violently puking again. It turned out that he'd been wrong about already having vomited up everything in his body. Very, very wrong. The force of it made his irritated throat feel like it was tearing. It was like someone was sucker-punching him over and over again.

“ _Staphylococcus aureus_ enterotoxin,” Connor said evenly behind Gavin as he collapsed, shaking, against the wall of the stall. “You have food poisoning.”

“I'm fine.” Gavin struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for a moment while he waited for the pins and needles in his legs to fade. “Get out of my way.”

“Detective—”

Gavin pushed Connor out of the stall walked shakily back to his desk. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he left the bathroom—he looked fucking awful. Like a corpse warmed over, pale and clammy, with dark circles under both eyes.

 

He sat down and logged into his computer, pointedly ignoring that Connor had followed him back to the bullpen and was watching him like he might explode at any moment. Which might not be that far from the truth, he thought to himself, as his stomach rolled again. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the case report on the screen in front of him.

Connor mercifully seemed to have taken the hint and made his way back to his own desk, glancing at Gavin over his shoulder as he settled into his chair. Gavin muscled his way through some menial paperwork, willing the clock to move faster so he could go the fuck home. 

The blue glow of the screen was murder on his eyes. Gavin’s head throbbed. He squinted at the words on the report, but they blurred in front of his strained eyes. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. 

Maybe Gatorade would help? He had an emergency bottle in his desk—he kept it around more for hangovers than anything else, but it was better than nothing. He dug it out of the bottom drawer and twisted off the cap, taking a few cautious sips of the violently blue liquid.

He waited a few minutes. His stomach still pitched and rolled, but he’d managed to keep it down. Gavin took a few large gulps of the Gatorade, swishing it around in his mouth to chase away the sour taste of his vomit. 

Things were okay for a few minutes. The pounding in Gavin’s temples started to fade, and he managed to get himself together enough to text Tina and let her know he wasn’t up to drinking tonight. 

The plastic prick was glancing at him over his shoulder again. Gavin glared at him and picked up his Gatorade, chugging half the bottle defiantly to prove that he was _fine_. 

That turned out to be a huge mistake. 

Gavin’s body rejected the sports drink like it was poison. His abdominal muscles spasmed in sequence, forcing him to lean forward over his desk as a tide of thick, mucousy blue came rushing up his throat.

If there was anything worse than puking on your desk, it was puking on your desk _in public_. Officer Brown jumped back with a horrified expression as Gavin’s vomit splattered across the border that separated their two workspaces. Gavin tried to regain control of his body, but the need to get rid of every drop of fluid he’d ingested was so visceral that it was like half his brain had shut down. All he could do was vomit and try not to choke when he gasped for air.

When the spasming finally stopped, Gavin’s desk was entirely ruined. The puke had gotten everywhere—it pooled in the grooves of his keyboard, soaked the scattered paper files that he’d been working his way through, and dripped steadily onto the carpet as it ran over the side. Gavin’s face burned hot. He didn’t want to look up. Everyone in the room was probably staring at him right now.

He wanted to fucking disappear.

Gavin heard the sound of someone clearing their throat in front of him and glanced up to see Captain Fowler standing outside the door to his office with a disgusted look on his face. “Reed—dismissed. Go home and clean yourself up.” He gestured at Connor. “You—get him out of here. I don’t care how much he complains about it.” Fowler turned, pausing at the doorway to yell back over his shoulder. “And someone get janitorial up here to deal with this mess!”

~~~~~~

Connor had made the executive decision that Gavin needed medical attention. Perhaps Gavin had finally accepted it, himself, because it was far easier to wrestle him into the auto-taxi than it should have been. Either that, or he was much sicker than Connor thought.

He’d queried CyberLife’s database about Staphylococcus enteritis, and found that it typically resolved on its own within 24 hours. Gavin probably just needed some fluids and an anti-emetic, and he would be back to his usual prickly self. 

What troubled him were the other details he’d learned. _Staph aureus_ was most commonly found on skin, and its enterotoxin could cause the onset of food poisoning symptoms within thirty minutes of ingestion.

The only thing Connor could remember Gavin ingesting within thirty minutes of falling ill was the coffee he’d made.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, exactly, but it had to be his fault. 

Gavins sat as far away from Connor as possible inside the taxi, pressing his cheek up against the glass of the far window and staring blankly at the cityscape rushing by. 

When they arrived at urgent care, Connor moved to help Gavin out onto the sidewalk. His outstretched hands were batted away with a mumbled curse word. To Gavin’s credit, he managed to stand on his own, and walked into the clinic under his own power. 

“I’ll go sign you in,” Connor said. “Do you have insurance?”

Gavin fumbled in his pocket and thrust a battered leather wallet toward him. 

“Thanks.” Connor took it and busied himself with checking Gavin in with the secretary. 

The cheerless woman behind the desk took one look at Gavin, who was sprawled out in the plastic waiting room chair, and handed Connor a blue emesis bag. “You’re going to need this.” 

Connor grimaced and took it. He felt terrible—sure, he’d never gotten along with Gavin, but he hadn’t wanted _this_. This degree of suffering seemed unreasonable. Humans were so fragile. 

_Gavin did try to shoot you—twice, even,_ he reminded himself in an attempt to make himself feel better. _You didn’t do it on purpose. Whatever you did._

He sat uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair beside Gavin’s, passing him the emesis bag. The other man had apparently been making a valiant effort not to vomit again until he had a receptacle to do it into—as soon as he had the bag in hand, he had buried his face in it and was heaving again.

Connor averted his eyes. This entire thing felt like a massive intrusion. Gavin was barely comfortable sharing a crime scene with him. He had to be hating every second of this.

His eyes wandered the room, taking in the handful of bored and sick-looking individuals scattered here and there. A stack of crumpled and faded magazines. A static-y TV with Channel 16 News on it, the audio muted. The closed captioning struggled to keep up. On the table beside him, a pump bottle of pale green hand sanitizer—

Connor’s eyes widened. _Oh._

 _S. aureus_ primarily lived on skin. The database said nothing about whether this was exclusive to human skin. Connor remembered dipping his finger into Gavin’s coffee, and then remembered the multitude of forensic evidence he’d sampled recently. 

Shit. Gavin was going to murder him. 

If he ever figured it out, anyway. 

Gavin probably had other things on his mind at the moment. Like puking his guts up into a plastic bag. Connor winced and resolved to be nicer to Gavin. And to wash his hands more often.

~~~~~~

Gavin largely ignored the poking and prodding of the nurse in teal scrubs who took his vitals, holding his phone in his left hand while he mutely held out his right arm for her to take his blood pressure. He opened his messages and texted Tina.

_T, come pick me up. Trapped with the plastic prick. Want to fucking kill myself._

_Idk, Gavin, that sounds like your dream come true to me,_ Tina shot back. _Ok, fine,_ she relented a minute later. _Getting my keys. Where are you?_

Gavin shared his location and then put his phone away. He avoided making eye contact with Connor, who was sitting in one of the spare chairs in the exam room like he’d never sat in a chair before. 

The nurse—what was her name? He hadn’t paid attention—rummaged through one of the cabinets in the exam room. “Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do for this,” she said, pulling out a few plastic packets. “Just supportive care and fluids until it passes. Can you keep anything down?”

Gavin shook his head. 

“I can give you some IV Zofran, then. We’ll do that, and some fluids, and then you can go home and lie down. Does that sound okay?”

Gavin gave her a half-hearted thumbs-up. 

“Alright. I’m going to gather some supplies, and then I’ll be right back.” She slipped out of the room, the door closing behind her with a heavy clunk.

Connor shifted in his seat. “For what it’s worth, Detective,” he said in that annoying throaty voice of his, “I’m sorry that you’re sick. I’ve never experienced anything like what you’re going through, but it looks awful.”

Gavin glared at him. “Don’t talk to me.” He winced—when he talked, all the aching muscles in his stomach twinged in complaint.

The robot looked crestfallen. “Sorry, Detective.”

The tense silence that fell between them was broken by the nurse’s return to the room. She had an armful of supplies, which she dumped unceremoniously on the counter. Gavin stared at the ceiling while she tore open packages of tubing and syringes. The harsh glow of the fluorescent lights burned his eyes. One of the acoustic ceiling tiles had a rust-colored stain on it. Gavin grimaced, wondering what the stain was. Maybe it was better not to know. 

“Okay, all ready! Can I have your arm please, Gavin?”

Gavin held out his hand, which the nurse took with firm, gloved hands. He felt the cool wetness of alcohol scrubbing over his skin, the rubbery sensation of her finger prodding at his vein. 

“Okay, big pinch.” 

It was over before Gavin even processed seeing the needle. She was already nudging the catheter into place, deftly connecting tubing and taping the plastic to his skin. She hooked up a syringe to the new IV and pushed the plunger. Coolness spread up Gavin’s arm as the drugs and saline rushed into his system.

“There, you should be feeling better in no time. I’m going to hook you up to some fluids, just to replace what you’ve lost from throwing up. We’ll run them for about an hour while we get your prescriptions together, and then you can go.” 

“Thanks,” Gavin said hoarsely. His throat still stung. He was looking forward to going home and washing the taste of stale bile and blue Gatorade out of his mouth.

The nausea was already starting to fade by the time the nurse left the room. Gavin buried himself in his phone and pretended that Connor wasn’t there, staring at him with that infuriating concerned expression on his face.

“Detective Reed,” Connor said, leaning forward. 

Gavin ignored him.

Connor sighed, looking down at his shoes like a kicked puppy. “Look, I know you don’t like me. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to tell me why. But we have to work together.”

Gavin grimaced and cursed internally. The last fucking thing he needed today on top of everything else was a robot heart-to-heart. 

“We started off on the wrong foot. Several times,” Connor said earnestly. “I’d like to start over with a clean slate, if you’re willing.”

God damnit. Gavin turned and looked at Connor. Annoying as he was, he did appear to be genuinely distressed. And he’d been far nicer to Gavin than Gavin would have been to him if the situation were reversed. Gavin had pulled a gun on him more than once, and the dumb bastard still wanted to bury the hatchet.

“Fuck it. Fine.” Gavin got his phone back out, awkwardly thumbing through the screen with his left hand. “This doesn’t make us friends,” he qualified, with a warning glance. 

“Of course.” Connor looked satisfied, the stressed flashing of his LED settling back to a solid blue. 

_Where are you?_ Gavin texted Tina. 

The response was near-instant. _Waiting room. They wouldn’t let me back._

_Be done soon._

Connor was mercifully silent for the rest of the wait. The nurse eventually returned with a blister-pack of nausea tablets and his discharge paperwork. She removed Gavin’s IV, taping a cotton ball over the puncture wound in his hand. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

As soon as she was done, Gavin shrugged his jacket on and left, not bothering to check if Connor was following him. Of course he was. It was all he’d done all day. 

Tina was in the waiting room exactly where she said she’d be, with a shiny foil balloon and a shit-eating grin on her face. “Happy birthday, Gav,” she said, handing him the string. He glanced up at it—the cheery blue text proclaimed “IT’S A BOY,” but she’d crossed out the last word and written BUG instead. 

“I fucking hate you,” he said, shooting her a dirty look. 

“Yeah yeah, I know. Is that any way to talk to your ride home? Hey, Connor,” she added, with a nod to the android. 

“Hello, Tina.” God, Connor’s smile was so fucking awkward. Whoever had designed his facial expressions deserved to be fired.

Tina slung an arm around Gavin’s shoulder. “Think I got it from here, I’ll make sure he lies down. You can head back to the precinct, okay?”

Gavin glared at her. “I’m not a baby, T.”

“Balloon says otherwise, buddy.” She patted him on the back.

“Got it.” Connor turned to face Gavin. “Get well soon, Detective.” He headed for the door.

Gavin struggled with himself for a moment. He was going to regret this, but fuck it. “Hey, Connor?” 

The android stopped, looking back over his shoulder. 

“You can just call me Gavin.”

Connor nodded and smiled. “Get well soon, Gavin.”

**Author's Note:**

> It was Gavin's birthday this weekend. You know I had to do it to him. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
